by A. I. Nasser
“Mother, this is absurd.”
“And Daniel Cole? How about him?” Rachel asked. “This is not a coincidence –”
“Stop!”
Rachel flinched at her daughter’s sudden outburst. She looked at Alan and could see the same confusion mirrored on his own face at Deborah’s reaction.
“Deb –”
“Stop!” Deborah said. “This is too much. Can’t you see what it’s doing to him?”
Alan frowned. “Debbie, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, shut up, Alan,” Deborah interrupted. “You might not see it, but I do. I’ve lived with this for six months, and if I’m the only sane person in this room, then so be it. The two of you are chasing ghosts.”
“How could you say that?” Rachel asked in disbelief. “You saw the monster for yourself. You know Copper Tibet is real.”
Deborah shook her quickly. “I’m not talking about that thing,” she said. “I’m never going to forget that. I’m talking about the hope you’re giving Alan that his sister might still be alive. He might not see what you’re doing, but I can. Do you honestly believe I don’t see how you’re trying to remove any responsibility you have for his sister’s disappearance?”
Rachel stared at her daughter. “How dare you?” she whispered. “Everything I’ve been doing to this very moment is to find a way to stop that monster from ever terrorizing another child, and you dare question my intentions?”
“I do,” Deborah countered, “because I know the truth about you, mother. I know that all the Council cares about is itself. I know you would do anything to bury your sins and make it seem like you are the hero. I don’t buy your fake intentions for a minute!”
Rachel felt her daughter’s words sink into her like a knife, slow and painful, and she responded in the only way she knew how. The slap echoed through her office, and when Deborah’s head snapped back, the look in her eyes said it all. With one rash reaction, Rachel Adams had lost her daughter forever.
Deborah stood up without a word, glaring at her mother as she brushed past her and stormed out of the office. Alan got up to follow her, but stopped when Rachel grabbed his arm.
“Find that corridor, Alan,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. “There’s a way out of there, a way that we can stop this once and for all, and you’re the only one who can do it.”
Rachel let go of Alan’s arm and watched him walk out after Deborah. As the office door closed behind him, she fell to her knees and wept.
Six Months Ago
“I don’t know what’s going to become of us.
I have no idea how we’re going to move forward from here on out. It’s hard to tell what the consequences of Alan’s actions will be. He denied Copper a child that was rightfully his, according to a century old agreement. Now, Copper is free of his binding, and it’s impossible to know what will happen now.
What I can definitely assure you is that there will be a lot of changes around here. I still need to meet with Daniel, but I doubt I’m going to have to wait for very long. He’ll probably call us all in for a meeting anyway.
There’s going to be talk about the blood bindings, but this time, I have a say in it. I promise you, Debbie, I won’t let this happen again. As long as I am still breathing, I will not allow Daniel Cole to strike another deal with that monster.
You have my word.”
Chapter 8
Michael Cole adjusted his rearview mirror and looked at the sleeping four year-old in his backseat. The child was completely out, obviously exhausted from the long ride back. Although the four year old did spend most of it awake, excited that Michael was taking him back to Melington to see his grandfather.
Michael looked at himself in the mirror, unable to recognize the man that stared back at him. This wasn’t him. He had always believed he was capable of many things, but kidnapping was not one of them.
And that wasn’t even the hardest part.
He looked at the little boy again and felt his stomach turn. He wasn’t going to be able to do this. He had called Fiona from the road and had updated her on everything, and he had been quite surprised at how excited the Sheriff had been. He found it hard to believe that the one person upholding the law in his town was the same one encouraging him to commit a crime.
Michael lowered his head and bumped it against the steering wheel a couple of times. This wasn’t right. He could stop this now, turn around and drive the boy back, somehow explain to his parents what he had done and why. They were a founding family; they would understand. He didn’t have to do this.
Only he did, and the memory of those hands scratching against his chest and the rotten breath of death against his ear, were enough to seal the deal. Fiona had said there was no other way, and he believed her. There was no telling what would happen if he didn’t go through with their plan.
Michael took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh, clenching the steering wheel as he readied himself for what he had to do next. He opened his door, stepped out of the car, and moved to the backseat to scoop the sleeping child in his arms. The boy moaned, his eyes half opening as the sudden movement threatened to wake him up. Michael stood completely still and waited for the child’s eyes to close again, the boy’s breathing heavy as he returned to his dreams.
You can’t do this.
But he had to. There was no turning back now.
Michael made his way around the house, careful to watch his steps as he moved, unwilling to let anything hinder his path or wake the child in his arms. As long as the boy was asleep, this would be easier. With his mind already in doubt, Michael didn’t need any other reason to hesitate.
The path was easier to find this time, Michael gently making his way through the foliage and onto the long trek. His ankle had healed, but there was still a visible limp in his gait, and with a child in his arms, the walk was difficult. He contemplated stopping once or twice, but pushed himself forward, knowing that if he did stop, he wouldn’t be able to go through with this.
He wondered what his father would think of him now. The old man would probably be proud, in his own sick way, his only son taking on the responsibility that came with being a Cole. Fiona had told him about the blood bindings, and although Michael had spent hours going through his father’s things, there was no indication as to how the bindings were done. If the Sheriff knew anything about them, she was keeping it to herself.
Michael had to admit that Fiona Bright scared him. She had seemed incredibly calm when telling him about what the Council was doing right underneath the townspeople’s noses. She had even explained her part in everything with pride, as if she were an integral part in some heroic quest to save everyone’s souls.
Michael knew differently. There was something sinister in that woman’s eyes, something that made him very uncomfortable. She oozed ambition, and he knew first hand through his father what ambition could lead to. He was being manipulated; he wasn’t a fool, he knew what she was doing, but he failed to see any other solution to his problem. Copper Tibet had chosen him, and if he didn’t deliver, the monster would definitely be back.
The path opened into the familiar field, the chill of the wind against him causing goose bumps to break out all over his arms. The child shuddered in his arms, and Michael held him closer. Michael gazed at the rotting maple, its disfigured bark and branches an unwelcoming silhouette in the darkness surrounding it.
Michael hesitated. He could turn around. He could leave this place and everything that came with it, give up on the house and the field and the business. He could leave, run away like most of the founding families had. He didn’t owe anything to anyone. This wasn’t his burden to bear, and it definitely wasn’t his fight.
Something shifted in the darkness below the tree, and Michael felt his entire body go numb, his knees almost buckling and threatening to bring him to the ground. It was a quick movement, hardly noticeable if he hadn’t been staring directly at it. It could have easily passed for a tri
ck of the mind. But, it was enough.
He couldn’t run. No matter where he went, the monster would follow. It would haunt him forever until he brought what it desired. He knew this for certain, as sure as he knew that Fiona Bright would have him killed before letting him disappear. No, there was no running from this. His fate had been sealed, and with it the fate of every founding family child until the blood bindings returned.
Michael took a deep breath, steadied himself and moved forward. He quickly crossed the open space between the tree line and the grotesquely twisted maple, resolute in getting this over with so he could hurry back. He stood a few feet away from the tree, praying that nothing would grab him again, hoping that since he had brought the child, he would be spared another night of horror. He bent down on one knee, lowered the sleeping boy carefully near the tree’s trunk and stood up again.
Michael stepped back, his eyes fixated on the sleeping child, hoping that he wouldn’t decide to suddenly wake up and make this harder than it needed to be. When he was sure that wouldn’t happen, Michael turned and began to walk away. He didn’t need to be here for whatever was going to happen next. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to be as far away as possible.
Michael had only gotten a few feet away when he heard the earth behind him shift, a soft sound that would have easily gone unnoticed in the wind if Michael had not heard it before and known it well. He stopped, frozen in his place as he listened to the shifting behind him, and suddenly his nostrils filled with the recognizable stench of rot and decay. He could hear the sleeping child groan in discomfort at being disturbed. Michael immediately raced back to the tree line, pushing himself forward as he tried to hurry away.
“Michael?”
Michael felt his heart drop at the sound of the boy’s tired voice calling for him, but he forced himself forward, unable to look back. A raspy chuckling followed, and when the boy’s screaming erupted into the night, Michael covered his ears and ran.
***
“A scotch, double.”
David Whelm looked up from the notes he was scribbling at the man who had pushed up onto the bar stool a few feet away. The day had started off slow, and David was beginning to get extremely frustrated with the progress he was making. So far, every missing child’s family he had visited had responded in the same way; they trusted the Melington Police to find their children.
It confused the hell out of David, and he even wondered if maybe these idiots deserved to have their kids taken.
The bartender poured the scotch and handed it to the man across the bar. “Not used to you coming in this early, Stanley.”
Stanley Turk shrugged, his face in a deep scowl, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “Couldn’t stand being at home any longer.”
“Still no news?”
Stanley shook his head. “I passed by the station today and got the same replies. It’s like they’re not even trying.”
“The Sheriff’s a good woman,” the bartender said. “If she says they’re looking for Tracy, then they’re doing just that.”
David felt his stomach turn and clenched his own glass tighter, fighting the urge to throw it at the bartender’s head. Still, he wasn’t the kind of guy who let an opportunity like this slip by. Closing his pad and tossing his pen aside, he got off his stool and made his way to Stanley Turk.
“I’ve got this one,” he gestured to the bartender.
Stanley looked up from his drink, skeptically taking David in before deciding that it wasn’t worth the mental power. “Thanks,” he mumbled, sipping at his drink and looking away.
David held out his hand. “I’m David Whelm,” he introduced himself. “I work with the New York Bulletin.”
Stanley ignored the hand and continued drinking.
“I couldn’t help but overhear what you said,” David continued, sitting on the stool adjacent to Stanley’s. “If you don’t mind my asking, but who are the police looking for?”
Stanley glanced at Whelm quickly before looking away again. “Listen, man, no offence, but I’m not very fond of reporters.”
David flashed the man a smile, already mentally preparing his next few responses to the set of rejections that usually came up when people knew what he did for a living.
“I feel you,” David said. “It’s intimidating, I know.”
“You feel me?” Stanley asked, looking at the bartender in confusion as the burly man smiled at him. “You said you’re from New York?”
“Right,” David nodded.
“Must have changed a lot since I was last there.”
David chuckled, a forced laugh he knew would have the desired effect of making him appear harmless. He had learned from experience that when the people he talked to thought he was a complete idiot, they were a lot more willing to talk to him.
“Not as much as Melington has,” David said. “A lot’s been going on here, or so they say.”
The bartender shook his head, already bored by David, and walked away.
Stanley eyed David for a moment, trying to discern whether the man really was an imbecile or a morning drinker with one too many drinks in his system. “Yeah? And what do they say?”
“The town’s growing, bringing in new business, and with a lot of new faces,” David smiled, already sensing that the man was loosening up. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“What makes you say that?”
David shrugged. “I could sense these things,” he said. “You have that city man air about you. Never would have pegged you for a townie.”
Stanley took a sip from his drink and sniffed. “Boston,” he replied. “Born and raised.”
“Ah, see!” David smacked his leg. “I knew it. It oozes out of you.”
Stanley frowned at David and shook his head in wonder. “Buddy, I don’t know what your deal is, and it’s really generous of you to buy me the drink, but I’d rather enjoy this by myself.”
David raised his hands in mock surrender and chuckled. “Sure, sure, no sweat,” he said. “I thought maybe you could use an ear to listen to your problems.”
“What do you know about my problems?”
David looked over his shoulder at the bartender, making sure the burly man was busy refilling the bar, and turned his attention back to Stanley. “I know, for instance, that there’s a whole string of missing children reports in this town,” he whispered, leaning in. “I also know the police are doing very little about it.”
That seemed to get Stanley Turk’s attention, and David smiled to himself as the man’s eyes grew wide.
“You’re right,” David pressed, sinking his hook in deeper, “I don’t know about your problems, but I’m assuming you’re a new victim to these ‘missing children’, and I can definitely bet that the Sheriff is going to do nothing more than what she’s been doing for all the other families. All the woman has are fake assurances and false promises. Not a single child has been found until now.”
Stanley could feel his teeth clench, and he squinted at the man in front of him, unsure whether to believe him or punch him. If this was some sort of joke, a way to get a story out of Tracy’s disappearance, then Stanley had a few ideas about what he was going to do to the man’s face. However, it wasn’t like what he was saying couldn’t be confirmed, and Stanley already had a feeling that the police weren’t taking Tracy’s disappearance seriously.
“Those are some serious allegations, buddy,” Stanley said, lowering his own voice as David looked over his shoulder again. “You got anything to back all that up.”
David’s smile widened. “You give me ten minutes of your time, buddy, and I’ll show you everything.”
***
“I don’t believe this!”
Alan watched Deborah storm back and forth in the living room, her face red in anger as her eyes gazed menacingly at him. He had spent the night at his computer, busying himself with research that he knew would be fruitless as an excuse to stay awake. Now he was exhausted and dying for sleep, hoping that the a
ll-nighter would give him ample time in his dreams to find out anything to support what Rachel Adams had said.
“Are you out of your mind?” Deborah hissed. “This is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. I can’t believe you’re actually giving into her lies.”
“We don’t actually know how much of what she was saying is true,” Alan argued. “I only know what I see every time I fall asleep, and if there’s any truth behind what your mother’s saying, then don’t you think we should at least try to find out?”
“She’s lying, Alan!” Deborah threw her arms up in frustration. “She’s been lying this whole time. This is lousy trick to send us down a wild goose chase. Don’t you see that?”
“I’m not saying she’s a saint,” Alan said. “I just don’t see the harm in investigating her theory. Actually, my father’s theory.”
Deborah stood in front of him and folded her arms across her chest. “And how do we know it’s your father’s theory?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you so eager to believe her when there’s nothing to support anything she’s said other than her word?” Deborah asked. “Has your father ever shared this theory with you?”
“My father rarely said anything at all,” Alan replied.
Deborah could see the pain on his face at the mention of Logan Carter, and she instantly felt a pang of regret. She sighed, forcing herself to calm down, and sat down on her knees in front of him.
“Listen to me, Alan,” she said, holding his hands and squeezing. “All we know is what my mother’s told us, and what we’ve seen for ourselves. There’s a monster out there, and the Council has been feeding it children to keep it happy. The Council is selfish and disgusting and is only looking out for its best interests. My mother is not exempted from their crimes.”
Alan looked Deborah in the eye. “I’m not saying I forgive her,” he said.
“Then why are you so willing to believe her?”
